Before the names, before the flame, Before the stars had staked their claim— There stood a Grid in silence deep, A place where shadowed echoes sleep. No sculptor’s hand, no monarch’s reign, No glory earned, no hero slain. It stood alone, unseen, unheard, A vault of dreams, a whispered word. The faces came in time’s slow drift— Of rebels bold and prophets swift. Not lauded, praised, or hung in fame, But warnings clad in flesh and flame. The wall stood mute as empires fell, It kept their truth—it bore it well. And when the hopeful sought its grace, It etched their tale on stone-cold face. But now the silence starts to shake, A pulse beneath, the wall shall wake. The colors fade, the stillness hums… The first face calls—the ending comes.
CHAPTER ONE : The Silent One – The Face of Death
No trumpet sound, no lightning’s cry, Just stillness cold beneath the sky. A grin appears, so wide, so pink, With hollow eyes that never blink. No shift, no shimmer, just the end, A ghost the Grid could not defend. The faces froze, the colors bled, As if the wall itself had fled. This skull, this mark, this deathly art, Had stilled the Grid, had stilled its heart. No whisper left, no motion found, Just silence spread on sacred ground. But silence hides what waits beneath, A breath held back, a song unsheathed. The wall, though still, began to feel, A coming truth the dark would seal. For after endings, life returns— The frozen sleeps, the hidden burns. And in the hush, a whisper’s near, A prophecy begins to clear.